City University of New York (CUNY) CUNY Academic Works Publications and Research New York City College of Technology 2007 Cuban Femininity and National Unity in Louisa May Alcott's Moods and Elizabeth Stoddard's "Eros and Anteros" Nina Bannett CUNY New York City College of Technology How does access to this work benefit ou?y Let us know! More information about this work at: https://academicworks.cuny.edu/ny_pubs/67 Discover additional works at: https://academicworks.cuny.edu This work is made publicly available by the City University of New York (CUNY). Contact: [email protected] 1 Cuban Femininity and National Unity in Louisa May Alcott's Moods and Elizabeth Stoddard's "Eros and Anteros" Scholarly interest in the concept of the United States as empire has surged since the events of 9/11. In her October 2003 Presidential address to the American Studies Association, Amy Kaplan notes that Guantanamo Bay, currently utilized by the United States military as a prison, “is a location where many narratives about the Americas intersect, about shackeled slaves brought from Africa, the important role of Cuba in U.S. history, and U.S. intervention in the Caribbean and Latin America.”1 Kaplan’s address reminds us that the strained relationship the United States has with present-day communist Cuba stretches back over several centuries. Indeed, it can be argued that the United States’ appropriation of Cuban space today is rooted in the political philosophy of Manifest Destiny, once a centerpiece of nineteenth-century United States’ political rhetoric. In the nineteenth century, discussions of Manifest Destiny were made regularly by male public figures and elected officials whose rhetoric dominated U.S. political life. Jenine Abboushi Dallal defines Manifest Destiny as “a secular version of the chosen people in the promised land.”2 As Dallal’s article makes clear, nineteenth-century writers address Manifest Destiny in more implicit ways than politicians. In her analysis of Ralph Waldo Emerson’s views of aesthetic beauty and territorial expansion, she notes that “[a]lthough the interdependence of expansion and culture is a central theme for Emerson, passages in which he directly addresses U.S. expansionism or Manifest Destiny are rare.”3 More recently, Amy S. Greenberg, through her study Manifest Manhood and the 2 Antebellum American Empire, has asserted that Manifest Destiny should be looked at as a gendered experience, with complicated, distinct meanings for men and women. Greenberg’s study traces the phenomenon of Manifest Destiny from the 1840s through the 1860s, arguing that “debates over Manifest Destiny also were debates over the meaning of American manhood and womanhood.”4 Nationalism and gender, according to Greenberg, must be examined in tandem when looking at the role of Manifest Destiny both at home and abroad. U.S. women fiction writers like Louisa May Alcott (1832-1888) and Elizabeth Stoddard (1823-1902) were even less likely to make overt political statements concerning foreign policy than a male transcendentalist like Emerson. Instead, these women made their political commentary through fictional narratives.5 Through relationships between men and women in their fiction, they reveal the United States’ complicated view of itself in the larger world. Striking similarities abound in depictions of Cuban women in Louisa May Alcott's first adult novel Moods (1864) and Elizabeth Stoddard's short story "Eros and Anteros" (1862). Both of these narratives, written by New England women in the same narrow time frame of the early 1860s, feature love triangles, each consisting of one man and two women, one of whom is Anglo, one Cuban. It is no coincidence that in each case, one of the women is specifically identified as Cuban. In both Alcott’s and Stoddard’s narratives, Cuban women are depicted as overtly sexual and dangerous threats who must be expelled from these narratives as the Anglo women explore their choice of husbands and come to terms with their own womanhood. Alcott and Stoddard both use the figure of the Cuban woman as an emblem of the contradictory impulses in the United States’ political psyche during the antebellum 3 period. In the 1850s, Cuba was a hot topic, its potential annexation advocated by Presidents Franklin Pierce and James Buchanan. A takeover of Cuba would have tremendous implications for the United States’ increasingly urgent debate over the continuation of slavery within its borders. With approximately 500,000 slaves living in Cuba in the 1850s, Southern states would receive an influx of cheap human capital if annexation went through.6 For others, Northerners in particular, the idea of annexing Cuba was more problematic. In his influential work Walt Whitman’s America, David Reynolds notes that for some Northerners, “acquiring Cuba was widely seen as part of a Southern plot to extend slavery.”7 Annexing Cuba would be a strategic way for Southerners to fulfill the promise of Manifest Destiny. The raging debate over Cuban annexation, with its Southern supporters invoking the doctrine of Manifest Destiny, was one which Alcott and Stoddard, writers who each had a wide and overlapping circle of friends, were clearly cognizant. Both writers depict Cuban femininity as threatening to marital union, suggesting that both see Cuba as an entity which should not be legally joined to the United States of America; both writers use Cuban women as symbols of inappropriate marital choices. Further complicating a reading of Alcott’s and Stoddard’s fiction is the fact that in the early 1860s, when both texts were written, the United States was in the midst of civil war, and the Northern states focused on keeping the existing union intact. While the real danger of Cuban annexation had passed because of the war, the debate over national boundaries was still raging in altered form. With the nation split in two, Alcott’s and Stoddard’s fixation on Cuban women in these texts represents not just a political commentary on Cuban annexation, but, in Alcott’s case, a re-assertion of her own antislavery stance. 4 Travel narratives of the 1850s provide evidence of the symbiotic relationship between the United States and Cuba. Under Spanish rule, Cuba became an important trading partner with the United States, exporting sugar and other goods.8 As a result of the increase in trade, more United States citizens traveled to Cuba, and more of them wrote of their travels for an eager audience back home. Travel narratives about Cuba published in The United States began to peak at mid-century, with 14 published between 1850 and 1859, a number that would not be surpassed until the 1890s.9 These narratives, written by men and women alike, brought the daily aspects of Cuban life into U.S. homes. For example, readers could learn of Cuba’s beneficial health treatments from Nathaniel Parker Willis’s book Health Trip to the Tropics (New York, 1853).10 Readers could also learn of Cuban religious, educational, and social practices through Julia Ward Howe’s wry and witty narrative A Trip to Cuba, printed in serial form in The Atlantic Monthly in 1859, and published in book form the following year. Howe’s account of her stay in Cuba in 1859 helped keep Cuba in the consciousness of U.S. writers like Alcott and Stoddard at a time when the annexation of the island was still a possibility and the civil war within the United States’ geographical boundaries had not yet begun. Both Louisa May Alcott and Elizabeth Stoddard, readers of The Atlantic Monthly, would have been likely to encounter Howe’s serial.11 Howe’s book, laced with wry observations and humor as she observes the people and sights of Havana and other coastal cities, offers an Anglo woman’s perspective on a nation whose treatment of its women mixed condescension with worship, depending on their social class. In Chapter 4 of A Trip to Cuba, entitled “The Harbor of Havana,” Howe offers her readers her first 5 reaction to seeing upper-class Cuban women. It is evening, after dinner, and Howe and her traveling party are relaxing on the piazza: The volantes dash by, with silver-studded harnesses, and postillions black and booted; within sit the pretty Señoritas, in twos and threes. They are attired mostly in muslins, with bare necks and arms; bonnets they know not, -- their heads are dressed ` with flowers, or with jewelled pins. Their faces are whitened, we know, with powder, but in the distance the effect is pleasing. Their dark eyes are vigilant; they know a lover when they see him. But there is no twilight in these parts, and the curtain of the dark falls upon the scene as suddenly as the screen of the theatre upon the denouement of the tragedy. 12 Howe’s description of these women reveals the complexity of depicting Cuban femininity. Here representing women of the Spanish upper class, later describing black maids, Howe distinguishes between types of femininity. As Luis Mártinez-Fernández points out, nineteenth-century Cuba was in fact a nation which “was neither fully capitalist nor fully slave-based; it was neither black nor white.”13 Mártinez-Fernández identifies several distinct types of women living in Cuba: the ruling Spanish (referred to as white), the Creole and the black slave. 14 Each group followed a distinct social code. The women of the Spanish ruling class were kept in a state of forced seclusion and had limited ability to walk freely about the streets, a practice Howe and many other female travelers to Cuba in the mid-nineteenth century found disconcerting and personally 6 prohibitive. Howe’s characterization of these upper-class and Spanish women in their volantes is decidedly theatrical and overtly sexual.